Chapter 8: Choices

The shepherd stumbled out of the tavern, closing the heavy wooden door behind him, his feet slipping in the ever-present mud. The village was overcast by dark clouds, an eerie mist clinging to the ground like a carpet. He flipped up his tattered hood to shield himself from the light drizzle, setting off home, his path lit by the yellow glow from the dirty windows of the adjacent buildings. As he stepped gingerly around a particularly deep puddle, he heard something behind him. He turned to look, squinting, his eyes unable to pierce the darkness and the fog.

As he watched, several dark shapes came into focus. It was a procession of horses, stamping their hooves in the wet dirt, their snorting accompanied by the clanking of their armored riders. He recognized them as Paladins immediately, their snow-white armor gilded with gold trim, a pair of golden eagle’s wings adorning their helmets. They were clad in full suits of plate, armored from their heads to their toes, wearing white surcoats over the top of their garniture that were decorated with the symbols of their order. They wielded long spears that had small, fluttering standards tied to the haft near their glinting tips, large tower shields strapped across their backs. They had short swords, too, along with numerous pouches and satchels that might contain any manner of things. They looked like they were marching to war.

They ignored the drunken shepherd, passing him one by one, and he counted six riders in all. He called after them, the one taking up the rear halting his horse, steering it around to look back.

“Are you here to slay the beast?” the shepherd asked.

“What do you know of the dragon?” the Paladin called back, his voice somewhat muffled by his ornate helmet.

“T’was I who first laid eyes on it,” the shepherd replied, trying not to sway too conspicuously lest it make his story any less credible. “T’was I who brought it to the magistrate’s attention.”

The Paladin signaled to his comrades, and they stopped, looking back at him as he turned his horse around. The shepherd had to crane his neck to peer up at the knight as his steed trotted up beside him, the animal snorting as its rider pulled back on the reins to halt it.

“You’ve seen the dragon?” the Paladin asked, his expression indiscernible through the narrow slot in his winged helmet. Up close, the shepherd could make out the golden inscriptions on his armor, the decorative trim comprised of flowing prayers and incantations. Even the steel plates that made up his gauntlets were gilded, the calligraphic passages wrapping around his fingers.

“Aye, I sighted the creature up in the foothills, where it swooped down and ate half a flock of my sheep before my very eyes. Never seen anything like it in my life, must have been fifty feet long, as heavy as a whole herd of cattle. Its footsteps shook the very ground beneath my feet. I saw it vomit a plume of flame that charred my poor sheep until their bones were blackened.”

“We were told that the dragon resides on a mountain peak that overlooks this village,” the Paladin continued, “is this true?”

“Aye, you can’t miss it,” the shepherd said as he pointed in the vague direction of the peak. “I watched the beast soar down from the mountaintop on its great wings, and that was where it returned once its foul deed was done. A mercenary came by a few days ago, had his mind set on claiming the bounty on its head, but I’ve seen no sight of the man since. If you ask me, the dragon bested him.”

“The Paladin Order will be taking charge of this situation,” the knight replied sternly. “Dragons are not something to be trifled with by the unprepared, they are possessed of powerful magic, so it is written in the holy scriptures. Our archivists alone possess the necessary knowledge to bring one down. If you should come across any more fortune seekers who are headed this way, turn them back. Without the magical artifacts and arcane techniques required to pacify a dragon, they will surely perish at its hands.”

“Aye, Sir, I’ll do as you ask.”

With that, the Paladin turned about and lashed his reins, catching up with his procession.

“May the Gods be with you!” the shepherd called after them.

Iden chewed into a hunk of roasted meat, its juices dripping onto the mahogany dining table. He had awoken beside Isabelle on their nest of extravagant sheets, sore and satisfied from their romp the night before. After a quick dip in the pool to wash off the residue, she had cooked him an admirable breakfast, if roasting a cut of beef using the fiery breath of a dragon could be considered cooking. She was leaning on the table now, watching him as he ate. She had reverted back to her human form once again and was now fully clothed, perhaps assuming that he found it more pleasing.

Iden would never admit it to her, but he had found her smooth scales and her chubby tail more than a little alluring. At first, he had thought himself attracted to her human features in spite of the draconic ones that had begun to crop up, ignoring them as he focused his attention on her more familiar assets. Yet over time, he was starting to find things to appreciate about her more exotic traits. The silkiness of the scales on her smooth underbelly, the softness of her hands, the agility of her oversized tongue. Just thinking about it made blood begin to rush to his loins.

“I still haven’t seen you eat anything yet,” he mumbled over a mouthful of beef. “How long do you usually go without food?”

“I was considering going out in search of a meal today, actually,” she replied. “It’s been about a week since I last ate my fill. I have a store of meat in the cave that I pack with snow so that it keeps, but that’s more for emergencies. I prefer my kills fresh.”

“Oh, you’ll be leaving?”

“Only for a short time,” she said with a nod. “I think I can trust you with the gold for a few hours while I fly out in search of something to eat, now that you know there’s no hope of claiming it, and now that we have more of an ... understanding.”

She sauntered over to him, leaning down to run her slim fingers through his hair, Iden pausing his chewing as his face began to redden. She giggled at his expression, her girlish voice contrasting with the deeper contralto of her dragon form.

“I’ll be back before nightfall, try not to get into any trouble.”

He watched her as she walked across the cavern, heading for the towering pile of treasure. Her clothes burned away to leave her nude, Iden’s gaze drawn to her shapely rump, her hips swaying with every step. At the base of her spine, blue discoloration appeared, her tail sprouting from her body to trail behind her on the stone floor. It thickened and grew, more of her iridescent scales spreading across her body, her skin cracking to form the hard plates. By the time her leathery wings were emerging from her back like a pair of shriveled arms, she had reached the pile, her slight frame expanding to take on the stature of her true form.

Nine feet, she had taken on the appearance that he had become so intimately acquainted with the night before. Fifteen feet, the base of her tail was now as thick around as her torso had once been, her posture changing as she began to lean forward. Twenty feet, she had dropped to all fours, her feminine figure morphing into a new, less familiar one. Her great wings unfurled, the quills that ran down her spine extending to their natural length, like a forest of sharp knitting needles. Her hide thickened as layers of bony scutes formed along her back, her great horns now as long as his arm, her powerful legs swelling with muscle to support her new weight.

She reached her final size, around eight tons, twenty-five feet and change. Iden was no less intimidated by her appearance, as normal as it was becoming to see her shapeshifting. She was so tall that he wouldn’t even have reached her hip, her head alone was as large as he was. She radiated an animal strength that made him wary of even getting close to her, lest he be accidentally crushed underfoot, or dashed by her swinging tail. He could see the brawn beneath her scaly skin rippling when she moved, the copious fat that filled out her enormous frame shaking with each impact.

The illusion of grace and power was somewhat marred as he watched her flop down onto her pile, rolling in it like a giant dog playing in the grass. Her serpentine body wound back and forth, her wings splayed out wide, her four limbs waving in the air. The pile of gold began to collapse on the near-side, like an avalanche cascading down the face of a mountain, unearthing more treasures as it went. After a few moments of this, she righted herself, the cave floor trembling as she landed back on her feet. Iden saw that there were coins lodged between her colorful scales in places, glinting in the torchlight, a fortune’s worth clinging to her like burrs to a sheep. She shook herself, dislodging some of the looser ones, sending a shower of them clattering to the ground where they bounced and rolled away.

She noticed him looking, her scaly lips pulling back to expose her teeth in a gigantic smile.

“I pay for my meals,” she explained, Iden remembering how the shepherd that he had encountered back in the inn had told of how gold had rained from the dragon’s body. She set off up the winding passage that led to the mouth of the cave, Iden watching the tip of her long tail vanish out of sight, leaving a few solitary gold pieces in her wake.

He took his time finishing off his meal, waiting a good half hour to be sure that his companion was long-gone. When he was certain that she wasn’t going to come walking back down the tunnel, he rose from the gilded throne, setting his silver cutlery down on the table. It was time to set his plan into motion.

Iden recovered his pile of discarded clothes and armor, stripping off the magical garments that Isabelle had created for him with considerable difficulty due to their tightness. He pulled on his gambeson and leggings, struggling for a few minutes to strap on his breastplate. It didn’t take long for him to be reminded of how inconvenient it was without a second pair of hands. He wondered briefly if Isabelle could sense that he was undressing, if she would have a way to know what he was about to do through some magical means. It didn’t matter, he was already committed.

He finished tightening the belts on his armor, now realizing that it was considerably less comfortable than the silken outfit that Isabelle had conjured, as much as he had complained about the form-fitting garments. He retrieved his short sword, returning it to its scabbard on his belt. His pike was broken, and his tower shield would be of little use to him now, better to just leave it behind lest it slow him down.

After ensuring that he still had some food left for the journey, and that his sleeping bag and tent were still intact, he slung his pack over his back. He turned to face the pile of gold and treasure, more riches than even a hundred men could have spent in their lifetimes. That all too familiar lust burned in his belly, greed demanding that he fill his pack with bejeweled scepters and silver goblets, his eyes drawn to the glittering hoard like moths to a flame. Just one ornate crown, just one handful of rubies...

No, he tore his eyes away from the mound, focusing them on something else. He marched around the circumference of the pile, kicking coins out of his path like they were no more valuable than pebbles. The bookshelves were his new target. Isabelle had said it herself, to the right buyer, these ancient tomes were worth a fortune in their own right. A fortune enough to set Iden free from the life of a sellsword? He couldn’t be sure, but what other options did he have? She was right about him not being able to transport the gold, even if he could claim it. There would be a target on his back, he could trust nobody, he would be robbed or murdered before he could spend a solitary penny.

But who would slit his throat in his sleep over musty old books? Who would rob him for what would look like worthless paper to the uninitiated? Only collectors and archivists would know the true value of his take, any brigands or innkeepers that he might meet would be wholly ignorant.

He perused the shelves, his open pack clutched in one hand, not knowing which ones to take. Some were surely more valuable than others, but how would he know? He could scarcely even read. As his eyes scanned their dusty spines, he spotted one that he recognized. It was the book that Isabelle had read aloud to him, the life and works of de Mercier, the warrior poet. Had she not said that this book was unique?

Iden pulled it from the shelf, dropping it into his pack, pulling more from their shelves at random. He couldn’t carry them all, only enough to fill the remaining space in his bag, so he’d just have to hope that it would be enough. He couldn’t spend books, of course. He would need to travel to one of the major cities where libraries and Paladin archives could be found, and he would need coin to spend along the way. Once he was done with the books, he would take a couple of pocketfuls of gold, enough to pay his way without drawing too much unwanted attention to himself.

His heart raced as he piled the tomes into his rucksack, each one accompanied by a cloud of dust. He didn’t want to be anywhere near here when Isabelle returned and realized his betrayal. With any luck, he’d be long gone, and she would have no way of finding him.

An odd sensation came over him, almost like a wave of nausea. Memories of Isabelle’s smiling face as she read to him from atop her pile flashed before his eyes, the scent of her auburn hair, the feeling of her clawed fingers massaging his scalp.

Iden shook his head, banishing the intrusive thoughts, turning his attention back to his thievery. He needed these books far more than Isabelle did. She had more treasure than she could ever make use of, simply for the pleasure of having it. She wouldn’t go hungry, she wouldn’t be destitute if he took just a minute share for himself. Iden would be sleeping in a drafty tent in the woods, he’d be eating stale bread and rancid meat, he would almost certainly die with his guts spilled on a battlefield if he didn’t do this.

Yet still, that pit remained in his stomach, an ache, as though someone had just punched him in the belly. Why was this making him feel so damned ... bad? He was a warrior by profession, he had killed scores of adversaries over the years, no doubt leaving grieving widows and orphaned children in his wake. So why did this feel so much worse?

He tried to ignore his conscience, throwing a couple more books into the bag, drawing it closed and slinging it over his back. As he made his way towards the exit, he knelt to grab a few handfuls of coins, stuffing his pockets and filling some of the empty pouches on his belt. He had to fight the desire to take even more, the gold really did have an almost supernatural power over him.

His boots echoed as he made his way up the winding passage that led out of the cavern, following the gold that had fallen from Isabelle’s massive body like a trail of breadcrumbs. As he neared the mouth of the cave, he began to feel the cold wind on his face, carrying the scent of fresh air with it. It howled as it whipped down the passage, tugging at his clothes, already starting to chill him to the bone.

The bright sun made him shield his eyes as he emerged onto the snow-covered mountainside, his vision slowly adjusting as he tried to blink the bleariness away. It had been days since he had seen sunlight or a blue sky. The mountain range below him was sheathed in clouds, a few solitary, snowy peaks rising up through the puffy blanket here and there. Iden took in a deep breath, preparing himself for the climb down. He turned to look down the tunnel one last time, swallowing as if it might somehow dislodge the lead weight that had settled in his stomach.